


A Piece of the Game

by deepsix



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Breathplay, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-23
Updated: 2009-05-23
Packaged: 2017-10-04 10:48:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepsix/pseuds/deepsix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk is taking this thing too far; Spock intervenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Piece of the Game

**Author's Note:**

> Maggie wanted me to write [this prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink/379.html?thread=25211#t25211), so I did! Note: I totally saved this as isspockgonnahavetochokeabitch.doc, which pretty much sums it up.

"The nature of your sexual activity with other life forms is of no personal concern to me," Spock said, "but if you persist in returning to the ship unfit for active duty due to injuries sustained during personal hours, then as your first officer I must inform you that I find your behavior unacceptable."

Jim looked at him a little blearily. He did have to admit there was a certain logic to Spock's argument, but on the other hand -- "It's never interfered with my duties," he said.

"Not yet," said Spock.

"Not yet," Jim agreed, "and it's not going to. I've got it under control."

Spock gave him a long, level look. Jim knew full well just how unconvincing he must seem, confined to his quarters until he was cleared for duty; but it wasn't like Bones was prone to _completely overreacting_ or anything. His vocal chords had barely even been damaged.

Jim sunk back into the couch. "I'm serious," he said. "I'm _fine_."

"You could have died," said Spock.

"I could have --?" Jim laughed. "Spock, come on," he said. "You have to know how unlikely that is."

Spock remained quiet a moment, then reached out, and trailed his fingers along the ridge of Jim's collarbone, one coming to rest in the dip at the base of Jim's throat. Jim swallowed. It felt strangely intimate -- maybe more so because of the emptiness of Spock's expression. He'd never been able to tell if Spock knew what this did to him, but at this point it was pretty unthinkable that Spock _didn't_.

"Jim," Spock said. "You aren't strong enough."

Jim laughed again, but it seemed a little flatter this time. Spock's fingers were soft against his skin, so close but not enough, and Jim could feel his own heart rate increasing, a low throb against his ribs. "I'm not, huh?"

Spock leaned a little closer. His fingers slid up the column his Jim's throat, thumb brushing over the pulse point, and suddenly Jim just ached, his heart flaring against the barest pressure.

Spock said, "I could kill you. You would not be able to stop me."

Jim felt something hot slither through him. "Yeah," he said. It sounded unsteady even to his own ears. "But where would that get you?"

"You are deliberately ignoring the point I am attempting to make," said Spock. His fingers tightened on Jim's throat, and Jim could feel Spock's pulse in counterpoint to his own -- Spock's steady, even pulse against Jim's own, tripping at a quicker pace.

Jim touched Spock's wrist. "Maybe you could clarify," he said. He knew he was pushing it, maybe pissing off Spock, maybe for no reason. But there was also something to this -- something irresistible in the way that Spock had reached for him, confident and measured, but dangerous. Jim hadn't asked for this.

Spock met his eyes. "Perhaps I will demonstrate."

And suddenly Spock was shoving Jim back, jarring him against the back of the couch. There was nothing gentle in Spock's grip anymore, but a fierce pressure in his fingers against the muscle of Jim's neck, the crush of Spock's thumb against his throat. There was the familiar spike of adrenaline, the surge of his heartbeat, the shallow gasp of breath. His fingers tightened around Spock's wrist, but he couldn't bring himself to fight it. Jim felt helpless, suddenly, and hopelessly turned on.

He could feel Spock leaning into him, the pressure on his throat growing, his breath coming in gasps when it came at all. And he couldn't look away, forced by the strength of Spock's hold to look back as Spock watched him, Spock's eyes fiercely intent on his face.

But he couldn't -- couldn't -- he could tell Spock wasn't going to let up, but kept pushing, kept tightening, and Jim couldn't breathe. Everything felt hot, his skin scorching where Spock touched him, tingling where he didn't, and his body was throbbing with it, the heat, the arousal, the desperation against Spock's hold. Jim twisted, wanting, but abstractly, and the sight of Spock's face fell away, lines and details blurring as he fought for air. He could feel himself losing the sense of the situation, shapes receding and coalescing into the pressure at his throat, the blurring in his mind, the vivid spikes of arousal.

But there was also the edge of panic, rising at the horizon of his mind. This was nothing like it had been, nothing like before, and Jim was hazily, desperately aware that Spock just might kill him, unable to stop, even if he wanted to.

And just as suddenly, Spock released him. The first gasp of air hardly registered, but the second felt explosive, over-pressurized in Jim's lungs, and Jim breathed.

Above him, Spock looked impassive, but when Jim moved to let go of his wrist, Spock twisted, and took Jim's hands in his, holding. Jim couldn't even make sense of it, his mind still sluggish, still numbed against reality. He looked at Spock, and breathed, and realised that Spock's hands were trembling.

Jim tried to speak, and then realised that he couldn't. He closed his eyes, struck by the unbearable tension in his throat, his chest; the desperate grip of arousal he still felt.

"Do you see," Spock said. Jim couldn't bring himself to look, though -- at the strange play of their bodies, of Spock's thighs pressing against him, their hands desperately clinging. Jim couldn't do it, because if he looked he wasn't sure that he would be able to stop. He wasn't sure that he could just not reach for Spock, not put their mouths together, not share his breath, not push against him, not touch him, not ask him -- even though the only thought he could yet resolve was _oh god please fuck me_.

"Jim," Spock said, and his voice was quieter this time. "I could have killed you."

Jim cracked an eye. He smiled, as practice, and faltered at the look on Spock's face. "But you didn't," he said, finally.

Spock let him go. He stood, and Jim slumped back against the cushions. Jim could see an echoed restlessness in Spock's posture, no longer translated through the shaking of his hands, but visible in the rigidity of his shoulders, the tilt of his head, the strangely uncontrolled look in his eyes. Jim thought --

"Not everyone might have stopped," Spock said.

Jim felt something uncoil, loose in the pit of his stomach. "Not everyone's you."


End file.
